


Practice Makes Perfect

by aveotardis



Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: I made a fluff, Idiots in Love, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, SO MUCH FLUFF, you could make a pillow out of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-02
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2020-06-02 15:05:53
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19443910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aveotardis/pseuds/aveotardis
Summary: Aziraphale loves Crowley. Now he just has to tell him so.





	Practice Makes Perfect

**Author's Note:**

> So I've been writing two other fics that are SUPER angsty. This popped in my head and it was like a breath of fresh air. I hope you enjoy. If you're feeling generous: https://ko-fi.com/aveotardis

Practice Makes Perfect

“I just wanted to say, that after everything that has happened,” Aziraphale nervously wrings his hands, “after everything we’ve been through,” he bites his lip and can feel his face flush, “that is to say,” a pause, head up despite the heat on his cheeks, “I love you, Crowley.”

A beat.

Aziraphale slumps and looks away from the mirror he had been practicing in. 

“This is ridiculous,” he says to the customer-free bookshop. He coughs, reorganizes some papers on his desk, gives up, and goes back to the mirror. He clears his throat of absolutely nothing. “Crowley,” he says with a bright smile, “I love you.” 

The smile is so big it seems fake. Crowley would laugh at him and think it was a joke, which it most certainly was not. Aziraphale had realized his feelings some time ago. Had it been the church? Possibly. Most likely. Though he had a suspicion they had been hiding somewhere long before that. But his duties to Heaven far outweighed his own personal affections. Not now, not anymore. 

“This is important,” he says to himself as he paces around his small office space. “It must be perfect.”

He stops pacing, looks out into the bookshop as though the object of his desire stood there. He balled his hands into fists against the outside of his thighs. He took a deep breath.

“I love you,” he says to the air, this time with a smaller smile, no teeth. The air says nothing back. Aziraphale sighs. “I love you, Crowley,” he tries again. “Crowley,” this time he modulates his voice lower. “Crowley,” slightly higher. Aziraphale turns away muttering to himself, “Of course you, who else would I be talking to?”

“Yourself, apparently,” a voice says. Aziraphale practically jumps out of his skin. Speak of the devil. Almost literally. Crowley was leaning against a bookshelf, hands in his pockets, sunglasses hanging from the v in his shirt. Aziraphale could hear his heartbeat in his ears. How long had he been standing there? Had he heard what Aziraphale said? 

“H-How long…” Aziraphale trails off, making small gestures with his hands to indicate who-knew-what. His brain was not actually functioning at the moment. 

“Just now,” Crowley says with a smirk, helpful as always. “Just wanted to see if you care to join me for lunch.” 

Aziraphale tries to calm his heart, his breathing, all those bodily functions that only a human should have to deal with. He curses himself for making an Effort. He swallows uselessly and nods, “Mmhmm.” 

Crowley is sauntering towards him, hips swaying slightly, hands still tucked into pockets. That smirk is still firmly on his lips. “Unless there was something else,” he stresses the word and lifts his brow, “you wanted to do?”

He stops just shy of Aziraphale’s personal space, within arm’s reach. Aziraphale feels his heart either stop or explode, he’s not exactly certain which. Crowley takes one small step closer, bracketing Aziraphale’s feet with his own. He leans in.

“Maybe something you wanted to tell me, hmm?” Crowley’s eyes wander down to skate across Aziraphale’s lips and it’s like he can feel it, feel the fire against his flesh. 

“You did hear me,” Aziraphale manages to squeak out. Crowley’s grin gets bigger, all teeth.

“Hear what?” Crowley asks in a voice that very much suggests he knew what. His hands slip out of his pockets to hang loosely at his sides. “Tell me, angel.” 

Aziraphale swallows harshly as Crowley watched the bob of his throat. “I…” Aziraphale tries to strangle out. Aziraphale realizes that somehow, somewhen, his back had found a bookshelf. Crowley crowded him into it, hands on either side of Aziraphale’s arms. “I…” 

“Yes?” Crowley whispers, breathe ghosting against Aziraphale’s lips. He can feel Crowley vibrating, shaking, shivering. Or maybe that was himself. 

“Crowley, I…” he stops again, meeting Crowley’s eyes. Those beautiful eyes. And suddenly he feels the words come as naturally as though he said them every day, “I love you.” 

Crowley smiles and laughs and without hesitation his hands are holding Aziraphale’s face. There are lips against his, not just any lips, Crowley’s lips. Aziraphale expected it to burn, actually physically burn him. But it doesn’t. Just soft lips against his own. Chaste, some might say, but to him it feels like the whole world was falling open. Like gravity had been a lie this whole time. His heart somehow manages to speed up and slow down at the same time.

They break apart far too soon for Aziraphale’s liking and judging by the look on Crowley’s face, his too. Crowley traces his fingers over Aziraphale’s jaw, up the curve of it to the bottom of his ears. He holds the angel’s face as though it was the most precious thing he had ever held. Aziraphale feels a shiver run down his body even through the heat. 

“Does this mean…that you…” Aziraphale stammers out. Crowley laughs again. Beautiful. It reminds Aziraphale of their first meeting on the wall of Eden. The smile, the searching eyes, the wonderment.

“Yeah, angel,” Crowley grunts, dips his head as though suddenly shy. “I love you, too.” He looks back up again, the smile gone, but the sides of his mouth twitching. “Always.”

“Oh, good,” Aziraphale smiles and chuckles. He grips the lapels of Crowley’s jacket, lightly, pulling him closer. “That would have been frightfully embarrassing otherwise.”

“What, like talking to yourself in the mirror?” Crowley grins wide again. Aziraphale can feel his skin redden. 

“You saw that?” Aziraphale whines. Crowley nods, the bastard. “Why didn’t you say something when you came in?”

“Well, it’s funnier that way, isn’t it?” Crowley crows. “I am still a demon, darling.” 

“I hate you,” Aziraphale grumbles, releasing his hold and backing away as much as he could with his back still against the bookshelf.

“See, now I know that’s a lie,” Crowley says in mock seriousness. “Ask me how I know that’s a lie.” Aziraphale huffs and walks away, though it was to hide his smile and not out of anger. “Ask me how I know, angel.” Crowley called after him.

Aziraphale busies himself making tea, but Crowley is relentless. He leans against the angel’s back and whispers into his ear, “Because I heard you talking to the mirror.”

Aziraphale shivers again. He feels hands on his waist, just above his hips. He can feel a lithe torso press against his back. It feels so…right. He silently curses himself for waiting so long. There is a kiss against the nape of his neck and forgets all his curses. Well, almost all of them. 

“I love you, angel,” another whisper. A nose against the back of his ear. A kiss there. Aziraphale smiles, heart melting, lungs struggling, brain firing. “You didn’t have to worry about how to say it.”

“I wanted it to be perfect,” here he turns around, Crowley never moving away. “After everything I…did…and said…or rather didn’t say…” He touches Crowley’s skin for the first time, the tips of his fingers over that sharp jaw. “You deserve perfect.” 

Crowley doesn’t seem to know where exactly to look. One second on Aziraphale’s lips, the next his eyes, the next his neck. Finally, Crowley leans forward and kisses him again, harder this time, more desperate. He brings Aziraphale’s bottom lip between his and sucks lightly. Aziraphale can feel his toes literally curl. Crowley runs tongue against where his lips had been. Before Aziraphale can open his mouth to invite him in, he pulls back slightly.

“Why do you think it took me six thousand years?” Crowley growls out. “It would take me six thousand more to truly tell you how much…” he stops like the weight of his words are drowning him. He looks into Aziraphale’s eyes and what Aziraphale sees is nothing but devotion, love, hope. Six thousand years’ worth.

“Oh, my dear,” Aziraphale says and cups the back of Crowley’s neck, fingers carding through the short hair there. He nearly presses their lips together before whispering, “Show me.”

Crowley doesn’t need to be told twice.


End file.
